


Take A Chance On Me - Larry Stylinson AU

by Deducing_machine



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:27:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1231600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deducing_machine/pseuds/Deducing_machine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is taken in by popular boy at Uni to share a flat with him. That boy is Louis Tomlinson, the smartest guy on campus. But as Harry becomes fascinated by him, will he make a move?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take A Chance On Me - Larry Stylinson AU

It was three weeks from the time Harry noticed wanting to kiss Louis to the time Harry actually did kiss Louis.

This was uncommon , Harry was usually really outgoing and live for the moment type of guy, but there were several factors that made it even more complex than, say, asking out the person who had just befriended him, which he had done without a second thought. He was his flatmate, he was popular, and most importantly, he was a guy.

In the intervening three weeks, between the time Harry looked at Louis placing the cigarette between his lips and thought, "Hmm, yes, I think I’d like that," to the time he made up his mind:

\- Louis placed a large plate of his favourite Chinese food in front of him 6 times, and then walked away, eating his food in another room

\- A hot girl stayed the night, sleeping in the guest room because she had got drunk at a party and Louis ended up taking care of her, told Harry "You should be flattered. Louis doesn't befriend and listen to just anyone, does he." As Harry had never noticed Louis listening to him, either, he didn't quite know what to make of this.

\- And, most dramatic of all, Louis defended Harry when someone pushed him over and his books fell everywhere.

Louis began looking at him oddly after that last. Possibly he'd found that Harry was often bullied, but also found out he was bullied because he was possibly gay.

At any rate, that was the point when Harry decided that things were as strange as they were going to get, as annoying as they were going to get, and as tedious as they were going to get, so he might as well go ahead and do what he wanted, because he was unlikely to make life any worse.

Louis, upon being kissed on the couch in front of the evening news, went completely still, not even breathing. When Harry sat back to look, Louis's eyes went suddenly from squeezed shut to open wide. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to." Harry's arm was still around Louis's shoulder, and Louis had made no move to shrug it off. He looked like a man doing complicated equations in his head. So: no odder than Harry had expected. "All right?"

Louis gave him the usual look of scornful impatience. "Again."

Naturally Louis didn't kiss like girls.

First, he went back to being perfectly still, parting his lips or tilting his head in response to Harry's promptings but otherwise not moving a muscle. If he hadn't said "Again" -- if he hadn't had a deathgrip on Harry's shirt at the shoulder -- Harry would have felt as though he was molesting the unconscious.

He was probably categorizing everything Harry did in some sort of mental database. Kissing, taxonomy of. Louis was well re-known for making intricate details.

Then, apparently hitting a point where he'd absorbed enough information, he sprang into motion, pressing Harry against the back of the couch. One long hand came up to tilt Harry's chin and then stayed, cupping the side of his face, smelling faintly of perfume. Some of the things he did felt amazing, and some felt as though he was conducting a mouth inventory by feel, and from moment to moment something would distract him and it would be as if he'd put his mouth on autopilot, licking repetitively at the same spot over and over until whatever had gained possession of his mind passed. You certainly never forgot who you were kissing with Louis.

So things didn't build in the usual way, which was probably for the best. Flatmates didn't have the constraints that kept things moving along orderly and not too fast. Still, it was quite enough for Harry to be getting a warm feeling and thinking ahead, until his hand, which had been on the back of Louis's hair, slipped down under the collar of his ridiculously posh shirt.

The skin there was very warm and very smooth. Louis's hair tickled the back of Harry's hand, and the muscles in his neck shifted -- all in a split second -- and he took a sudden fast breath and leapt to his feet.

"It was 349! I knew I had got the answer wrong!” He shouted as he ran downstairs.

From Louis Tomlinson, that was almost a tender goodnight kiss.

Next evening, there was silence, as Louis spent most of the night with his head in a chemistry book. However, whenever Harry glanced over at him, he looked away, like there was something interesting out of the window.

Until about 10pm, when he skimmed the book onto the table and announced “I think I need to catch up on the news” and sauntered over to the couch, wiggling his bum and glancing over at Harry as he did so.

Not smiling at the obviousness of it, with effort, Harry left his place at the computer and went to sit beside him.

Louis's arm immediately came around him, and Louis's head bent to his. They hadn't even turned the television on. In the silence, Harry could hear Louis sigh when their mouths met.

Louis's engagement in the process was a little more consistent than it had been the night before. Almost at once he had a hand on the back of Harry's neck, under his collar, clearly sending the message that last night's sudden departure hadn't been an attempt to set a boundary. Given that permission, Harry upped the ante with a thumb around the outer edge of Louis's ear.

"Were you," Louis said, and kissed him again, "experiencing any particular urgency as to the progress of this --" he waved his hand between them -- "process?"

Harry pushed his hand into Louis's hair. "I never hurry. I take things as they come."

"Good," Louis murmured against his cheek. "Not that I've any hesitation about taking you to bed, but I've never done this before."

That seemed so improbable that Harry had to pull back and look at him. Louis shook his head, as usual impatient at Harry's failure to read his mind: "No, no, of course I've had sex, but I've never done this."

"What, snogging on the couch? -- no, I suppose you haven't." Louis's mouth had gone proud. It softened when Harry touched it with a fingertip, and Louis licked the pads of his fingers. "Pity we didn't know each other until this year."

One corner of Louis's mouth indented. "We might've done it on my boat."

"Your family had a -- of course you had a boat."

Louis took Harry's hand and licked curiously at his palm. "Only a small one."

Harry smiled. "Wonder how we'd have made out. Your large wardrobe and small boat, my football kit and stupid haircut --"

Louis kissed him hard once. "I'd like to have seen that."

"Nipping off behind the hedge for a quick one. It would have been sweaty-handed bliss," Harry said dreamily, "at least until," and then he almost literally choked on the words.

"Mm?"

"Nothing." He sucked Louis's earlobe into his mouth, and Louis briefly allowed the distraction, but the sweet relaxation was gone. The kissing unwound, and Louis pulled Harry close and rested his chin on top of Harry's head and sighed, and then he got his phone and was engrossed in moments, close enough to touch and yet not there at all.

Clearly Harry had been dismissed. After a bit, he got up and went to bed.

Love was not Harry's department.

Harry had epic romances -- giddy beginnings, screaming fights and tearful reunions, plans, betrayals. Public humiliations every time.

Harry liked dating, and he didn't like fighting. He didn't cheat or get cheated on. He didn't go on his knees begging anyone to take him back. He didn't throw anyone's clothes out the window. He didn't pine over anyone who'd said no.

The one time he'd made an exception, it had convinced him of the wisdom of the rule.

They'd had a nice little flat above a bakery together, courtesy of her parents who owned it -- the smell of vanilla still turned his stomach. They'd fought and made up, compromised, stayed together through shouting matches that would ordinarily have sent Harry away with a smile on his face and his bag in his hand. When he'd been transferred by his foster parents, they'd been talking of marriage and the future, despite only being together 2 months.

She hadn't left him while he was in care, but she hadn't been able to stay loyal. Mind you, most girls didn’t at 16 years old.

He'd never discussed this with Louis. For all he knew, Louis had already figured out why Harry never spoke about why he never went back when he had a chance

There was a lecture that Louis had missed a few days later, and he was frantically messaging everyone on his course to try and get the notes for. He had been on the laptop for hours, scribbling notes rapidly.

And at last there was Louis turning off his Macbook and saying tentatively, "We might try lying down."

"Try?" Harry grinned at him. "So this is an experiment?"

Louis made a face; perhaps he didn't consider the comparison very flattering to his experiments. "Which answer will make you say yes?"

"I really don't mind," Harry said, absurdly touched by Louis almost saying out loud that he wanted Harry to say yes. "But go get a drink first, you’re probably parched”, he added, and Louis went grumbling off to the sink.

"There are a number of things I haven't tried," he said over his shoulder, "and if you're amenable --"

"Amenable. That's me. My middle name," Harry said, and started up the stairs.

Louis's bed was unmade but not visibly cluttered; Harry toed off his trainers and lay down. Louis, already stripped down to pajamas and dressing gown, had the advantage of him.

They tried a kiss, bumped knees, shifted positions. Louis squirmed his arm out from under him. Harry had never seen anything like it. There were far too many knees and elbows in the bed. Louis made an impatient huff.

"You could try turning your back to me."

Louis tilted his head; clearly one of those things he hadn't tried, spooning. He turned over in a great dramatic flop, and Harry shuffled closer, but Louis wasn't relaxing at all. "No? All right, how about the other way?"

He turned over, and Louis tucked up behind him and said, “Oh…”

Harry smiled. "Like that one, do you?"

Louis fitted them even closer, knees slotting in behind Harry's, and Harry settled back into his embrace. Louis wrapped one arm around Harry and took Harry's wrist between thumb and forefinger. "I like this. Do you know, I can feel you relax all over. Useless for lecture, I suppose. Pity. I can feel you laughing." He stroked Harry's wrist with his fingertips. Harry was catching some of Louis's sense of wonder, because that felt amazing. "No, don't tense up again, why would you --"

"It's good." Harry's voice was husky.

"Oh." Louis ran his fingers down into Harry's palm and then up the inside of his arm, pushing up his sleeve. "Where can I touch you?"

Couldn't forget who he was dealing with here. Harry cleared his throat. "Eyes are right out. Front teeth are all right, but back ones'd be a bit odd --"

"Harry." Louis's voice had dropped into a low rumble, amused and chiding at the same time.

Harry leaned back into him a bit more. "Anywhere, Louis. Anywhere you like."

Louis put a hand on Harry's knee, finding the lower curve of his patella through the thick denim. He probably knew how to take the joint apart from the outside. Normally his hands were icy, but now Harry could feel their warmth right through his jeans.

Louis drew his hand slowly up Harry's outer thigh, over his hip and up his ribs, over his shoulder, and down his arm to enclose his hand again. Harry hadn't even known it was possible in this position to trace such a long path without touching anything sexually loaded. No way that wasn't intentional.

"I did say anywhere," he said, hushed.

"Don't like to make any promises I've no immediate intention of keeping."

Harry tried to remember the last time he'd had sex this unrushed. Sixth form, maybe. No, earlier. "Have you ever slept with a guy?”

"No," Louis said, and as an afterthought, "Just one girl, an older girl."

"Christ." Just one? Just the one, period? Harry discarded both questions for a safer one: "How old were you?"

Louis's fingers made a distracting circle on the inside of his elbow. "I don't remember."

"Please tell me you're lying to me because you were shockingly young and not because this was year before last."

Louis made a hming noise that definitely wasn't an answer, and kissed the back of Harry's neck. Harry sighed into the touch, and Louis put his hand on Harry's hip and moved his mouth around to the side of Harry's neck.

"Nothing promised," Harry said. "This is sexy. I like it."

"Frustrating," Louis said. "Don't think I can't tell." His lips buzzed behind Harry's ear.

"Sexy frustrating. You've never drawn it out on purpose? Just to make it better?" He rolled onto his back a little, just enough that he could see Louis's face.

Louis hesitated -- Harry could feel him consider the option of not answering -- before he offered: "I had a two-hour wank once."

"Christ." Harry swallowed. "On purpose?"

"Research." This made Harry laugh a little, because of course, but Louis lifted his chin: "You never know when it might be necessary to be able to catalog the effects."

"Right."

"And I wanted to see if I could."

"Two hours continually?"

"Well -- as continually as I could manage without invalidating the results."

Harry looked closely at him. Was he blushing? No, not visibly. "Was it -- I can't imagine it was much fun." Though the mental image was quite inspiring. "Did you learn anything useful?"

"Things got surprisingly messy, especially after the forty-five-minute mark. After two hours, climax isn't so much a pleasure as a relief. Not an experiment I was ever moved to repeat, at any rate."

"Suppose not." Louis's hand had come to rest on Harry's stomach; Harry raised his hand to intertwine their fingers, but the gesture seemed inappropriately romantic, especially after a conversation like that. He patted Louis's hand instead. "Think you might want to repeat this one?"

There was a brief, expressionless silence, and then Louis said, "Perhaps."

Where had all this stiffness come from? Whatever the explanation, the boneless embrace was gone, and after a breath or two, Louis sat up, muttering about automobile horns. He squeezed Harry's shoulder in passing.

It had just gone eleven. Harry went to bed, because starting anything new at that hour was absurd, but it was a long time before he slept.

After that, the daytime world unexpectedly got very exciting. Harry turned up on time for his lectures, and he got full marks on a test.

Then Harry waited in the rain in the plant house for about seven hours, in and out of greenhouses, before being pushed through a cold frame, resulting in a condition that was medically short of both concussion and hypothermia, but not by much. The rare orchid was restored to the university before it inspired any more murders, with a sharp lecture from Louis about appropriate security, and Harry piled every blanket he owned on the bed and slept for most of a day. Vaguely he was aware of Louis looking through the doorway at him sometimes. Luckily he didn't demand that Harry wake up, come downstairs, and hand him his computer; Harry quite liked him, for the most part, and would have been disappointed to have to toss him out a window.

About the time Harry was starting to think of getting up and seeing if there was any food, or simply taking it as read that there wasn't and calling for some, Louis materialized in the doorway, said, "Right, that's long enough," handed him a slice of bread, and climbed into the rumpled bed with him.

"Traditionally flowers are the thing, or maybe a bottle of wine." Louis's feet were freezing, but just the same it was arousing to have him slide into Harry's bed as if it were his own. A tendril of worry unfolded from that thought.

"You haven't eaten in nineteen hours, and you haven't cleaned your teeth in about seventeen." Louis made a shooing gesture, and Harry took a bite of the bread. Stale. Naturally.

"Never eaten bread in bed before," he said.

Louis brushed a crumb off his chin. "Surely you knew living with me would expand your horizons."

The instant he swallowed the last bite, Louis was kissing him, maneuvering them into his favorite position, curled at Harry's back. Louis was fully covered with his usual pajama and robe combination, but Harry had gone to bed in only bottoms, and he gasped at the feeling of Louis's clothes without that extra layer between them -- just Louis's clothes, that washed-thin T-shirt --

The tendril of worry began to spread. He ignored it. He took things as they came, and he'd have to be a fool to refuse this.

Louis laid an ear against Harry's bare back (soft hair and warm skin making him shiver) and listened for a moment, then spent a long time examining Harry's fingers by feel. It was arousing and unnerving and strangely comfortable at the same time. So, a normal day with Louis, then.

Louis's mobile chimed, and Harry felt him fish it out of the pocket of his robe, text something at lightning speed, and put it back again. "Lecture?" he said, half in hope and half in dread.

"Lucy asking for yesterday’s notes, I’ll forward them later” He touched Harry's throat, his temple. "I thought you'd got a fever."

"Wasn't my easiest day ever," Harry said, "but no harm done. Though I can't imagine being willing to die for a plant, however rare."

"Not rare; unique." Louis's voice was different, hushed. He touched his tongue delicately to the precise center of the nape of Harry's neck. Harry sighed. "I saw the flower. If I were of a weird kind, I might have done it, for that."

He put his fingertips against the scar that roped over Harry's collarbone, and Harry couldn't help tensing. Louis hauled himself up and hooked his chin over Harry's shoulder and made that hm sound again. He didn't ask whether it hurt (it didn't) or whether Harry wanted him to stop (he did); he just traced the thread of scar tissue back to its origin in Harry's shoulder, and lifted his hand.

Harry sighed, relief loosening his muscles.

The next place Louis's fingers touched down was Harry's nipple.

He'd been in the middle of an exhale. The second half of it came out in a huff. Louis made that sound again. His fingers tapped and pressed and slid.

He lifted his hand. Harry took a breath, and he put it back on the scar.

Scar; nipple. Scar; nipple. After three sequences, Louis's voice rumbled petulantly in his ear: "I imagine you're going to tell me there's a difference between tense and sexy tense, but they both feel exactly the same to me."

He wasn't touching anything, so Harry could talk. "No, they don't, or you wouldn't know whether the nipple thing was making me uncomfortable."

Louis hm'd again. In this context, it was a grudging admission that someone other than Louis Tomlinson had made a valid point. He brushed his fingers over Harry's throat and down the middle of his chest. "This should be less disputed territory."

Harry bent his head, looking at Louis's long fingers trailing randomly over his torso, and Louis rubbed his rough face against the back of Harry's neck. Harry swallowed hard. He could remember the thinking that had got him into this: an experiment for Louis, a bit of fun for him, light and easy because obviously there was no danger of Louis's falling in love with him.

Louis's thumb and forefinger bracketed the rise of Harry's pectoral muscle. He bestowed a lingering kiss where Harry's neck met his spine. In retrospect, it was clear that Harry had left something out of his calculations.

Damn it.

Louis kissed the side of his neck. "You've gone all tense again," he murmured in the soft, low voice he used for private conversations in public places. The intimacy, ersatz though it had to be, was incredible. Harry's throat hurt.

Damn it all to hell. It was too late to put a stop to it, wasn't it? He'd missed the place where he'd crossed the boundary. Call it off now, and he'd still be stuck with everything he'd sworn he was never going to go through again: the angry words, the sleepless nights, the constant inescapable longing. The humiliation of running like a cur at the heels of someone who was already giving what was available to be given, and was never going to be interested in giving you any more.

"And your heart is pounding," Louis said.

Damn it all to hell. Harry closed his eyes. "You're turning me on."

"No: you're angry again, and -- hm." Louis sounded aggrieved at first, and then puzzled. "Am I?"

Giving up all hope at last, Harry rolled and pinned him with a kiss.

Louis pulled in a noisy breath, and his whole body went lax. Harry licked messily at his mouth, and Louis hissed and pulled him down from his half-pressup to rest his whole weight on his body.

Louis was hard -- yes, Harry had wondered -- and the lift of his hips was enough to propel a breathless "God!" out of Harry's mouth. Louis threw his head back, eyes shut, face flushed, his whole otherworldly concentration focused on the rub of Harry's cock against his through two pairs of pajama bottoms. Helplessly Harry fell forward, licking and biting his long throat, finally freed from the constraints of worrying about tomorrow, pushing the loose shirt up with one hand and already under it with the other.

Louis's narrow chest, almost hairless, heaved under Harry's hand. One side was tangled in robe and sleeve, but the other nipple rose to his lips while Louis made a shocked noise above him -- the sensation was unfamiliar or Harry was moving faster than expected? Harry didn't care, honestly. He was doomed, anyway, and as long as he didn't hear a no, he was finally going to take what he wanted.

Louis's nipple was insistently peaked, not relaxing through long moments in the warmth of Harry's mouth. The skin over his ribs was hot and faintly freckled and not recently bathed. The tie of the bottoms was done up tightly, no doubt to make sure Louis's dramatic flops weren't marred by undignified clothing mishaps, but at last the knot gave way under Harry's fingers and he managed to haul everything as far down as it needed to go.

Louis's cock rose to meet him, and suddenly Louis's hand was tight in his hair, pulling his head up.

"Harry." Louis's voice was gravelly, broken, and it struck Harry how silent Louis had been so far. Harry looked up and found him up on one elbow, wide-eyed. "I didn't --"

"Please," Harry breathed, beyond caring what the rest of the sentence was.

Louis's head dropped back onto the pillow with an audible thunk, and his grip on Harry's hair loosened.

Louis's cock was like anyone else's, really, disarmingly ordinary for such an extraordinary person. He smelled amazing here, with a stronger concentration of his usual scent, less heavy on the deodrant, plus the intoxicating addition of sex-musk; Harry pressed his face at the base of Louis's cock, sucking air through his nose and mouth. Louis's hand tightened painfully on the back of his neck, nails scratching, and Harry rasped his two-days-unshaved face on the tender skin under his navel.

When he finally pulled the head of Louis's cock into his mouth, Louis's hand left his neck for points unknown. Harry wasn't even trying to please him. He was beyond that now, simply grabbing all the sensation he could find: the wrinkled skin against his lips, the salt-slick flavor on his tongue, the muffled sound of Louis's gasping breaths above him. Louis gave a full-body shudder, then froze suddenly, and, without even trying to warn him, came in his mouth.

Harry held back as long as he could bear it, then spat into his hand and made the few hasty tugs it took to send him into his own climax.

Silence settled. For a few breathless moments it was only silence, but then a chill crept into it. Harry's chemistry wanted to send him into boneless relaxation, but his mind knew the trouble he was in and kept his muscles on alert. There was no need to wonder whether Louis could figure out what had become of this experiment. All he'd have to do was take one look at Harry's face.

Harry slightly preferred a brisk "no ties, more work" brushoff over whatever would pass for gentleness in Louis Tomlinson, but either of those would be better than an accusation of unfairly presuming upon what was meant to be innocent experimentation. He raised his head to see what he'd get.

Louis was panting, an arm thrown over his face. As Harry looked up at him, he leapt from the bed, pulling up his bottoms and shaking his robe into order as he swept from the room. Moments later Harry heard the slamming of the outer door.

Well, that answered that question.

Louis was gone for eleven hours, and came home smelling strongly of charcoal and with something blue all over his hands and wrists. The first word Harry spoke ("Chemistry Paper?") was greeted with a sniff and a rolled eye. The second ("Tea?") got the same in verbal form: "Really, Harry, don't hover."

It was even worse than Harry had feared. If he sat, stood, spoke, was silent, everything got something between scorn and fury. "I suppose you're well aware that in a battle of wits you're not even a contender." "Still working on that crossword, Harry? Why not just stay with yesterday's?" "Chardonnay, Harry? Isn't your brain working quite slowly enough already? I suppose I could find someone to sell you some marijuana. Or hit you on the head with a blunt object, which of course has the advantage of being cheaper and slightly less illegal."

Louis's face when he said these things wasn't angry or scornful; it had a sort of nasty glee, a gleam of triumph, an invisible wink at an imaginary audience, like someone besting an animated opponent in a video boxing match. As though Harry didn't even exist except so that his defeat could provide entertainment.

To the landlord when he called for the money, he said, "I don't know how many sheep are cold today because of Harry's jumper, but their discomfort was horrifically wasted, don't you think?" in an inquiring tone that had him sending Harry a sympathetic look behind his back. Liam offered his own version of the same look when Louis said, "Do you see anything unusual about my results?" and hardly gave Harry time to shake his head before saying, "Of course you don't; I've no idea why I still bother asking."

As Harry opened the door to the flat and Louis swept past him without a glance, it occurred to him that there was something rather odd about the insults. Louis was in no way pulling his punches, and yet the accusations Harry's mind flung at him were so poisonous that Louis's insults were almost painless by comparison.

The things he could have said! All day long Harry had been braced for it: Here's another one fallen in love with me; isn't that a laugh? And he'd said everything else; why would he stop short at that?

He puttered through his evening routine, still pondering. The insults weren't pro forma, nor were they gentle; Louis's anger was clearly deeply felt. They were simply off target.

How could that be? Louis Tomlinson could answer a question before Harry asked it. He could tell how a lecture had been by what time he made his tea and how many pints Harry had had by his smile when he walked through the door.

And yet -- if he wasn't waiting for the most humiliating time, and he wasn't holding back to protect Harry --

Then the only remaining possibility was that he didn't know.

How could he not know? Harry had rubbed his face all over Louis's none-too-clean body like a dog rolling in garbage. He'd been desperate. He'd knelt there smelling him, for god's sake. He'd been so keyed up from sucking him that he hadn't been able to hold out long enough for Louis to lay a hand on him.

And anyway, he was Louis. One look at Harry's face should have told the whole story.

One look at Harry's face --

Harry had a sudden vivid memory of Louis's voice going muffled, of Louis bursting into a flurry of movement as Harry raised his head. Of Louis standing by Harry's bed, tugging down his T-shirt and rewrapping his robe, the tendons in his neck visible as he turned his face pointedly away.

Jesus. The pen fell from Harry's hand with a clatter. He hadn't seen Harry's face. He'd been trying to hide his own.

Louis was on his back on the couch, staring fixedly at the ceiling. He'd probably have liked for Harry to think he was pondering deep things, but his arms were bare of patches, and he was worrying his lower lip with his fingers. Brooding, possibly; planning out his next attack. (Harry was certain that many of Louis's devastating comebacks were prepared in advance.) He hadn't looked over when Harry dropped the pen, which meant he'd been keeping a bit of an eye on Harry already.

But his mind was so full of his false conclusion that he didn't observe.

He didn't turn his head when Harry stood, but he was watching, just the same. Harry touched him before he spoke, sliding a hand up the inside of his arm and back down again to catch his hand. "Budge up," he said, as Louis pushed himself up on an elbow with an incredulous look. But he made room, and he didn't shake off Harry's hand.

Doing this -- snogging on the couch with Louis in his shirtsleeves -- had involved a fair amount of strategy. Harry had been carefully censoring what he did: nothing too romantic, nothing too demanding. He threw all that away, now. He might still be wrong; he might still be out on the doorstep in the morning. But he was done holding back. He pushed Louis against the couch (eyes closed, deep furrow between his eyebrows) and cupped his face in both hands. Louis shuddered, and his mouth pursed in an unhappy line. Harry kissed it very slowly. He slid his hand around to the back of Louis's head and used the other to skim over the delicate bones of Louis's face, and kissed him, slow and deep.

He opened Louis's shirt and spread it wide. When he laid his face on Louis's chest, he could feel the tension in Louis's muscles, the movement suppressed. He wrapped one arm around Louis's narrow torso and placed careful kisses down the line of his chest.

When Louis's hand came to rest lightly on his head, he sighed down into Louis's skin, and, sure now that this was permitted, knelt up to pull his own jumper and shirt off over his head. Louis's face was flushed, turned away into the back of the couch, eyes shut. But he wasn't saying no. He helped Harry get the rest of his clothes off without opening his eyes. He shivered, almost flinching, at the sound of Harry's zip, but when Harry lay back down on top of him, he lifted both his mouth and his hips in welcome.

When Harry's full weight came down on top of him, Louis hissed through clenched teeth, and the muscles around his eyes and mouth tightened further. He looked the way he looked when he turned down eye wash and sat still blinking for hours through sheer force of will -- not exactly encouraging. Harry slid up his body, sending a shudder of pleasure through his own limbs as his cock slotted up beside Louis's, and touched Louis's face with his fingertips.

Louis flinched. His eyes were so tightly shut now that the skin on the bridge of his nose was wrinkled. Harry rocked his cock softly into Louis's and kissed Louis's left eye.

Louis's fingers dug into Harry's lower back, pulling them more tightly together, against Harry's rhythm. "You're -- you're mocking me."

Harry's heart gave a painful kick in his chest. He kissed Louis's other eye, the crest of his unrealistic cheekbone, his temple. "Doesn't seem the sort of thing I'd do, really."

Louis's legs parted and Harry's knees came down between them. With the extra leverage, he could slide their cocks together with a bit more finesse. In the face of the sensation, it was hard to keep his eyes open. Louis's own were still tightly closed. "That's what -- what I had thought," he murmured. "But the alternative is -- even more out of character."

Harry cupped Louis's hot face in his hand -- infuriating, beautiful, protecting himself even now when he was leaking a wet spot onto Harry's belly. There was no mistaking this warm swell of mingled want, affection, and exasperation. He was surprised he'd fooled himself this long, and amazed that he'd fooled Louis at all. "Sure of that, are you?"

He felt the split-second of stillness. Shock: no one who had ever met Louis Tomlinson asked him if he was sure of anything. Pure pique was enough to make him open his eyes.

Harry, with difficulty, didn't look away this time. Someone in this relationship had to stop being a coward.

Louis looked at Harry as if he were mud or a star or a single DNA strand that didn’t match. His hips stilled their movement, and something complicated happened to the shape of his mouth.

Then: "Harry," he said, an agonized groan, and his eyes fell shut, and he heaved his hips upward, clearly seconds away from coming.

"Oh, god," Harry muttered, but Louis was still speaking, one arm like an iron bar across his lower back, the other hand pulling him closer: "Yes, Harry, yes, yes, only -- only if you -- if you can --"

"Of course," Harry said, "of course, never wanted to be safe anyhow," and his own climax rocked him, shook him, took him apart and remade him.

Reality came back slowly. The room smelled of sex, and Harry had banged his ankle painfully on the frame of the couch, and ... ah, the hell with it. Harry found the skin that was closest to his mouth -- collarbone, felt like -- and laid a soft, lingering kiss on it. "Right," he said, "so I'm not even going to pretend I'm not completely mad for you. It's just something you're going to have to adjust to."

He wasn't expecting rejection, but a sarcastic comeback would have been within parameters. But when he raised his head, Louis was blushing. He met Harry's eyes with obvious difficulty. "I -- all right," he said, and tilted his mouth up with a hopeful expression.

It was something like a first kiss.


End file.
